


Yes, They Told His Story

by Laramidian_Phantoms



Category: 18th & 19th Century CE RPF, Doctor Who (2005), Hamilton - Miranda, Historical RPF
Genre: Angry Mickey, Breaking the fourth wall is a major theme in my view of the 10th Doctor tbh, Brief suicide ideation, F/M, Unsettled Doctor Who characterization, Waters of Mars mention, i'm sorry y'all, mickey is really bitter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-04
Updated: 2016-09-05
Packaged: 2018-05-11 16:10:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5632861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laramidian_Phantoms/pseuds/Laramidian_Phantoms
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired by @sweetestinthemiddle who prompted the following:</p><p>"Vincent and the Doctor" but with the Doctor takes Eliza Schuyler Hamilton to see Hamilton live on Broadway.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Meeting Eliza

**Author's Note:**

> I tagged this as both RPF and Hamilton-Miranda since I knew that this audience would likely enjoy it the most.
> 
> Also, Tennant is bae and Martha is more bae.

Martha Jones had just started to fade into slumber when she heard the TARDIS whooshing into her bedroom. She sat up, quietly cursing as the TARDIS materialized in the only spare space left in her shared room with Mickey. An assortment of medical textbooks from her interrupted studies, ruined jackets splattered with mysterious liquids, and shredded alien technology lined the floor, dressers, and desk, and she sighed as the final thud of the brakes resounded through the room. She turned on her bedside lamp, catching a glimpse of her reflection in the mirror on the small set of drawers. She didn't look too exhausted, thankfully. Her hair was all over the place, and while the slight bags under her eyes were certainly not extremely attractive, she didn't complain. She had been through worse.

The TARDIS opened, and Martha’s mouth gaped open as her Doctor peeked out. She wasn't expecting the tall, slender, spike-haired maniacal genius to be grinning back at her if she ever saw the Doctor again.

“Allo,” he cheerfully said, and Martha grinned as her heart rate automatically picked up. “Is Mickey about?”

Martha frowned slightly. Sure, she loved Mickey dearly, and while her feelings for the Doctor had faded from passionate infatuation to tender care wracked with worry, she missed having his undivided attention.

“Not tonight,” she said sadly. “Some of these models from a nearby store have sprung to life suddenly, and Mickey went to investigate. Says he’s had experience with them?” She looked inquisitively at the Doctor, who grimaced.

“Oh yeah… those,” he replied, scratching his ear as he looked up at Martha again. “That was his… initiation into alien life, you could say.”

Martha snorted. “At least it's not Judoon on the moon again.”

“Oh god,” the Doctor responded, and Martha laughed. As she stopped laughing, the Doctor's gaze on her intensified. Martha shrugged loosely.

“So,” she began, “what brings you back to the humble flat that Mickey and I share?”

“Well,” the Doctor rasped, “I want to take you and Mickey on an excursion, but let's go see if he needs any help first--Eh?” He had spotted an interesting round device on the other side of the room, and was now climbing over the bed to grab it. Martha sighed and quickly leaned back, giving him space to clamber across with what she knew was a gyrosp-

“A gyrospheric compass! Huh,” the Doctor exclaimed, kneeling upright in the center of the bed. “Haven't seen these in years.”

“Yeah, although that one time in Calzakar with those weird centipede-jello creatures wasn't that long ago,” she commented.

“Oh, really?” The Doctor pulled a pleased face. “So I've kept with a somewhat regular visitation schedule?”

“If you call every two months with a two-week error margin ‘regular'”, Martha gently snarled back. The Doctor smiled.

“Oh, how I’ve missed you, Martha,” he said. Martha smiled.

“So what have you been up to,” Martha asked, finally inching out of the bed and pulling on a nearby leather jacket-- the one she reserved for trips in the TARDIS.

“Eh,” the Doctor said. “Not much.”

Martha cocked her eyebrows. It was the first time the Doctor had ever responded with such a declaration. Martha raised an eyebrow.

“Is there something wrong?”

“Wrong? No,” he said, tossing the compass in the air before pocketing it in his suitjacket. “Just contemplating legacies.”

“Legacy?”

“Yes. What is…” the Doctor suddenly cut himself off, staring at Martha. “I don't want to spoil too much,” the Doctor said. “I'm going to take you and Mickey to a show.”

“A show?”

“Yes, but we have to pick someone up first,” the Doctor said, grin returning to his face. “Come on Martha, let's go see if Mickey needs help.” The Doctor stumbled back to the open TARDIS door and Martha crawled after him, smiling slightly.

***

Elizabeth Schuyler Hamilton sat feebly in her rocking chair, staring at the approaching sunset. Her youthful energy seemed tethered to the presence of the glowing orb, and she closed her eyes as the bright hues of the sky began to fade into grey and midnight blue. Silence filled the room, aside from the slight crackle of the fireplace, but the presence of her late husband resonated in the room best during these quiet moments. She could almost hear his pen scratching away, and she smiled gently.

Suddenly, a quick rapping at the door brought her back, and Eliza started, then sighed resignedly. It was late spring, and it was unusual for guests to visit on Tuesday evenings in order to see her. She lifted up her frail frame, gently leaning on a cane. Eliza was barely 85, but the cane was a comfort to her as she slowly made her way to the door. She opened it, and saw three strangers, in clothes she had never seen before. The tall man was white, with hair that defied gravity dressed in a sharp and close-fitted suit, similar to what young men of the publishing industry wore, but perhaps even tighter than that. Beside him was a black couple: the man dressed in a strangely padded all-black outfit, the woman dressed in loose-fitting--pantaloons? She took in this odd outfit that the woman was wearing before the tall suited man cleared his throat. Eliza peered up at him.

“Can I help you,” she asked, smiling politely. Alexander would be cursing her from heaven above if she knew that she actually listened to a Burr tactic: talk less, smile more.

“Are you Eliza Schuyler, by chance? Sorry for the lateness, we were traveling and-” the man was interrupted by her gentle laugh.

“Why yes, I am,” she lightly responded. She backed away and waved a hand in. “Come in, sit yourselves down, I'll start a kettle.” She turned around and smiled as these three strangers carefully walked in. She heard footsteps behind her as she entered the storeroom next to the fireplace, and the woman in the pantaloons came up next to her.

“Eliza, if you want I can-”

“Don't worry, I may be old but I'm not incapable,” Eliza responded with a chuckle. “Although I would love to learn more about your…” She looked down at the woman's pantaloons, then back up, a small smile on her face.

“Oh!” The woman exclaimed, and Eliza could tell from her timid smile that she was blushing. “About that, I'm sorry,” the woman responded. Eliza smiled and took a kettle of water and set it on the stove and stuck a stove poker into the main coal compartment.

“It's fine, child,” she chuckled as she looked up at the woman. “But you must tell me, where are you from? Your accent are unlike that of any I've heard in recent memory, although I presume that your master-”

“M-master?” the woman asked, stuttering slightly.

“The white man,” Eliza said, beckoning towards the sitting room, “I don't see very many-”

“Oh no, he's not my master,” the woman responded quickly. Eliza let out a breath she had been holding for a minute and smiled.

“I am so glad to hear that,” she responded. “Otherwise I would have probably chewed him out for daring to bring himself here.” Eliza turned back to the stove, muttering “Damn Southerners” under her breath.

“We're not from the South either,” the woman said gently. Eliza looked up at her.

“Oh, are you from Scotland?”

“Er, yeah, I guess you could say that,” the woman said, smiling. “It’s a fair amount more complicated than that, though. But, the Doctor will explain-”

“The Doctor?” Eliza inquired. “I'm guessing the well-dressed one.”

“Yes, that's the Doctor,” the woman replied. “The one dressed in all black, that's Mickey-”

“Are you two married?”

“Who, me and Mickey?”

“Any of you,” Eliza responded, nodding. She was no stranger to strange marriage traditions, and she found that the more unusually dressed someone was, the more prone they were to these unusual traditions. Although John had been as normal and she and Alexander, which perfectly disguised their occasional gatherings as more than friends--

“Oh, no, not yet, at least,” the woman responded, awkwardly grimacing. “The Doctor is just a friend, and Mickey and I haven't talked about it much.” Eliza noticed how the woman’s gaze drifted down to her feet, and Eliza smiled.

“I'm sorry dear, I never caught your name amidst our talking,” Eliza said as the kettle began to whistle. She grabbed a nearby cloth and grabbed the handle and lifted it and began to walk out of the storeroom. “Tell me, what is it,” she asked, and the woman looked up at her.

“Oh, sorry, I'm Martha,” the woman responded. Eliza smiled.

“Excellent,” she responded. “Now, let's go join the men out there, the Doctor seems… curious about me.”

“Oh, you have no idea,” Martha replied, following Eliza out into the sitting room. Eliza heard Martha lightly sigh behind her, and she knew that she wasn't going to rest easy tonight.

Better drink a bit more tea than normal, she thought. This night might run late.


	2. Martha On Your Side

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mickey has some opinions of the Doctor that he hasn't been able to say, but he now has the chance to while Martha tries to help the resilient Elizabeth Schuyler Hamilton.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't realize how many feelings I had about Mickey and the Doctor's interactions until I wrote this. I apologize for the Doctor Who-heavy chapter, but we will soon get to the Hamilton fun, I promise.
> 
> Also, warning for anyone who was disturbed by the Waters of Mars episode. In terms of timing for this entire work, it is during the exploring that the Doctor did between Waters of Mars and The End of Time, Pt. 1. Also, there is some fourth wall breaking and snarking about writers of Doctor Who.

When Mickey first got into the TARDIS after schlucking off his plastic-stained overcoat, he smiled. In the midst of the blue lighting of the bronze interior of the spaceship was Martha, who rushed to him.

 

“Mickey,” she exclaimed, throwing her arms around his neck. Mickey hesitantly hugged back, shocked by this show of affection, when Martha pulled away and stared him in the eyes. “Are you alright?”

 

“Me? Alright? Why wouldn’t I be,” he asked as Martha rubbed at a chunk of melted plastic on his cheek. A sudden sharp pain from the scratching brought him back to the reality of the situation he had just been in.  _ Oh, that’s why _ , he thought. The Doctor walked past them.

 

“Mickey,” the Doctor clicked, picking up a random pen-shaped piece of machinery from the control panel. Mickey let go of Martha as she turned toward the Doctor, who was motioning to throw the pen at him. Mickey opened a palm, and the Doctor tossed it. Mickey catched it and inspected it carefully. There were two buttons, one red and one blue, and the pen tip looked to be made of metal.

 

“That will help remove any remaining bits of plastic,” the Doctor said. “It’s likely that the plastic is infused with something that will turn you into a mindless zombie.” Mickey nodded, and flicked the blue button. He started pushing it to his face before the Doctor quickly rushed over.

 

“Ah-ah-ah! That’s for technological removal, the red button is for biological artifacts, which will do more help in this scenario,” he quickly explained. Mickey flicked the red button and pressed the pen tip to the bit of plastic on his cheek. Martha smiled, patting Mickey’s shoulder. He looked at Martha, smiling slightly.

 

“I didn’t see you out there,” he muttered to her, and she shrugged.

 

“I was busy using the TARDIS to collect information about where the base was. The Doctor,” she continued, turning her head to stare the Doctor down from across the control panel, where he was now quickly pressing buttons, “didn’t want me getting hurt.” Mickey chuckled at the obvious disdain in Martha’s voice. He also stared at the Doctor, wondering where this sudden desire to preserve the safety of his companions came from.

 

“Well, that’s a new one,” Mickey said, walking closer to the control panel. “What’s happened?”

 

The Doctor looked up. “What do you mean?”

 

“I thought you trusted in your companion’s abilities to not get killed,” Mickey snarked, losing his smile as he kept the pen pressed to his cheek, “Or, maybe you just didn’t care when Rose--”

 

“Lots of things have happened,” the Doctor quickly said. “But I don’t feel the need to rehash it all, for now.” Martha strode at the midpoint between the two of them and cleared her throat.

 

“Okay, guys, chill,” she said, and Mickey narrowed his eyes.

 

“I will, once I have a straight answer about the Doctor pulling a sexist move out of his pocket when he never hesitated to send his companions out to battle before,” Mickey said sharply. The Doctor intensified his gaze.

 

“If you must know, it’s because Moffat is pressuring Davies to be a little more ‘respectable’ to the women,” the Doctor said. “Also, I found out I have the power of a god and someone died because of it, now can we please get back to what I initially came to visit you guys for?”

 

Mickey and Martha stared at the Doctor with slightly open mouths. Mickey blinked, and made to say something about how the Doctor killed people all the time without needing godly powers before Martha gripped his hand. He looked over at her, and she shook her head.

 

_ Not right now,  _ she mouthed, and Mickey released a hesitant breath. They both looked back at the Doctor, who was staring down at the control panel with a clenched jaw. Mickey held reservations about the Doctor, which he was more upfront with the Doctor about the last time they met. When Rose had come back.

 

Mickey shook his head at the memory and turned around, taking the pen off of his face and feeling his cheek. The plastic was gone, and he smiled. If the Doctor was anything that Mickey valued, he did his best to clean up his messes. Mickey turned around slightly.

 

“So, are there any other spots on me that I missed,” he asked, and Martha looked at him carefully, glancing over his outfit. “I already took off the coat, which got a majority of the splatter.”

 

Martha wandered closer, investigating Mickey’s exposed lower arms and hands, then his neck and the rest of his head. The Doctor continued to stare down at the dashboard, a small smile starting to creep onto his face and loosening his jaw. Mickey knew that the Doctor admired Martha’s meticulousness, and after she was done looking him over she smiled.

 

“Nope, that seemed to be the only major part,” she said. “Although since you said ‘splatter’, I would probably run the pen over the rest of your skin to destroy any microscopic parts.”

 

“Fair point,” Mickey said, starting to run the pen on the back of his hand. Martha walked back towards the Doctor, and Mickey silently cursed himself inside. He didn’t know whether or not his angst about the Doctor was because he had stolen away Rose and endangered her multiple times, his apparent disregard for how his actions affected the people under his influence, or if he was jealous that Martha seemed to give the Doctor more attention even after saying she didn’t love him anymore. But it didn’t matter to Mickey, or it shouldn’t.

 

“So, Doctor,” Martha began, leaning against the control panel and staring at the Doctor, “Where are we going?”

 

“September of 1842, New York City,” the Doctor crisply replied. “We are picking someone up to go see a show.”

 

“Wait,” Mickey said, running the numbers in his head.  _ America, 18 years before the Civil war, with a white man and two black people _ . There was no way that they weren’t going to turn heads, especially in their attire. The Doctor could probably manage, but he and Martha would… not. “Are you sure this is a good idea?”

 

“Of course it is,” the Doctor said, grinning. “New York is abolitionist territory and we’ll be coming in at dusk. Hardly anyone will see us.” He stared at Mickey. Mickey didn’t see the usual smile and jovial attitude that he was familiar with. His face was hallowed, cautious, and even a little bit more contemplative. Not that the Doctor wasn’t always thinking, of course. But this thinking was not just considering entertainment value. This was something deeper.

 

And so, Mickey decides to trust him.

 

“Alright,” Mickey said. “Who are we visiting?”

 

The doctor pressed a few buttons on the control panel as Mickey strode over, and a pleasant lady dressed in Revolution-period clothing displayed on the small screen above their heads.

 

“Elizabeth Schuyler Hamilton,” the Doctor said. “Widowed wife of Alexander Hamilton, an often overlooked figure in American history.”

 

“Why her? I mean, I don’t doubt that she’s been involved with aliens if she’s somewhat remotely involved with American politics,” Martha began, “But what does that have to do with a show?”

 

“Nothing, really,” the Doctor said. “It’s… something I don’t want to spoil, to say the least.” The Doctor pulled on a lever, and the TARDIS rushed into life. Martha reflexively gripped onto the control panel while Mickey was jostled a few feet away, gripping the guardrails that surrounded the control panel. The Doctor laughed as he pressed at levers and such, while Martha grinned, watching him. Mickey stared at the chemistry between them, feeling jealousy burn inside. But he let it settle as the TARDIS jerked, stopping its thrumming sounds. The Doctor and Martha started walking towards the door, and Mickey joined a few seconds later.

 

***

 

The Doctor opened the door and was greeted with a sunset. He had managed to park underneath a tree in the backyard of the Hamilton household. Stepping out, he felt the humidity and lingering heat of the city hit him. Martha stepped out next to him, looking around curiously.

 

“So, this is New York,” she said, and after a pause, “...again.”

 

“I don’t expect any humanoid daleks this time,” the Doctor said. “I came through already to make sure that our little excursion wouldn’t be derailed by the extraterrestrial.”

 

“Says the Time Lord,” Mickey said, following up on the Doctor’s other side. The Doctor grinned.

 

“Well,” he replied, and then he shrugged. Martha giggled, and Mickey shook his head. The Doctor stared at the house.

 

“So,” Mickey said, “Should we go in?”

 

“Let’s go around the front,” the Doctor said, “I want to make our presence amenable to Mrs. Hamilton.”

 

They went around the front and onto the porch of the house. He could see Mickey looking around hesitantly, while Martha followed the Doctor without hesitance. The Doctor internally tisked at himself for being as charming as he was, for being someone that people trusted with their lives. He liked that Mickey had his own head about him, even though sometimes it landed the Doctor in uncomfortable positions with regard to how he did things. Captain Adelaide was both the crux and downfall of his short time as a god, and he had learned since to value the histories of other people. What happened would happen.

 

And God forbid he go back in time and try to stop the duel between Hamilton and Burr. History had settled that, there was no need to rile things up and cause more heartbreak in the American tragedy that was Alexander Hamilton’s life.

 

He pushed his thoughts aside as he knocked on the door. A short, aged woman supported by a cane answered the door, and the Doctor smiled.

 

“Can I help you,” she asked, smiling politely. The Doctor took in the strong form that Elizabeth Schuyler held herself in. Even in her old age, she was bold and defined. She curiously glanced at Martha and Mickey, who were standing together on the Doctor’s right side.

 

“Are you Eliza Schuyler, by chance,” the Doctor asked. “Sorry for the lateness, we were traveling and-” 

 

“Why yes, I am,” she lightly responded. She backed away and waved a hand in. “Come in, sit yourselves down, I'll start a kettle.” She turned around and the Doctor looked back at Mickey and Martha, then smiled. He looked back towards the open door and strode in, Martha gently pushing past to catch up with the quick elderly woman.

 

“Eliza, if you want I can-” Martha began when Elizabeth chuckled.

 

“Don't worry, I may be old but I'm not incapable,” she responded, and as Martha and Elizabeth walked away, their talking faded. The Doctor looked around the sitting room. There were portraits of historical dignitaries and an old desk leaned up against the opposing wall. He could feel the reverence for Elizabeth’s late husband permeating through the room, smiling at her careful and frenetic maintenance of his legacy--

 

“So, Doctor,” Mickey interrupted the Doctor’s thoughts. The Doctor swiveled around, seeing the last few motions of Mickey settling into one of the lounging chairs. The Doctor sat down opposite from him and smiled.

 

“Yes, Mickey?” The Doctor knew that he was in for an interrogation of sorts, and as Mickey leaned forward the Doctor did as well.

 

“What the hell has happened to you,” Mickey asked. The Doctor raised his eyebrows, and opened his mouth.

 

“And don’t you dare say that you said so earlier. Who the hell are Davies and Moffat? And what do you mean you just barely discovered that you were a god,” Mickey inquired, intensity of his stare increasing. The Doctor flustered about the Davies and Moffat comment. He internally hit himself on the head about letting that particular fact loose. But he could at least answer the second one.

 

“I had forgotten that I was, in fact, a Time Lord,” the Doctor explained. “I realized in a moment of desperation that the powers of time that determined who lived, who died, who tells the story, all that jazz, were solely possessed by me. And I used them. I saved a life that was fixed in time to die, and that person--” He paused, swallowing. “Well, she righted my error.”

 

There was a silence between them, and Mickey leaned back, taking in a deep breath of air.

 

“Holy shit,” he lightly muttered. The Doctor nodded in response.

 

“And, in that moment, I realized multiple things: just because I have the power to change time doesn’t mean I should, among many of them. But I also realized that even if I don’t allow myself the powers, I am still powerful. I participated in war, I lead troops to be slaughtered in battle, and even outside of the war I still compel people to follow me into potential death traps. And… I don’t want to keep doing that.” The Doctor looked at the floor.

 

“If I can prevent the deaths of the people I care about- and yes, I do care about the wellbeing of my companions- it is my responsibility to do so, even if it means delegating them to do tasks in a way that keep them safe,” he continued, looking back up at Mickey. “You were in the fray of fighting already, but I knew that I could have Martha do something crucial to helping you within the safety of the TARDIS.”

 

Mickey stared back at the Doctor, almost in disbelief. “So, are you saying that most things that you do with your companions could be done in safety?”

 

“Well, no, but we have both encountered the plastic aliens before, so it was easier to track its patterns before venturing out,” the Doctor responded. “And it worked.”

 

A silence between them grew, and Mickey shifted a little bit.

 

“Well, that answers one of my questions,” Mickey said. “But what abo-”

 

Mickey was interrupted by the women coming back, and the Doctor turned and smiled at Martha and Elizabeth. Elizabeth held a warm kettle of tea, which she set down on the table in front of the Doctor and Mickey. Martha looked over at Elizabeth as she sat down in her chair, and Elizabeth waved at Martha, smiling.

  
“You sit down, I am capable,” Elizabeth said with a grin. The Doctor smiled as well, invigorated by the intensity of this woman before them all. He silently nodded at her, and was grateful that she interrupted before the Doctor had to deflect the other things he realized in his short time as a god.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm @laramidianphantoms (writing) and @rambleton (Hamiltrash) on Tumblr!
> 
> If you want to beta-read, shoot me a message! I didn't get around to beta-reading this time around since I was traveling and quickly whipped this one out. But since school is starting up again, I'll probably do more beta-reading at that point in time.


	3. Ball of Yarn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Doctor explains time travel to Eliza, and there is the classic "it's bigger on the inside" scene.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this one was so late, and also so short! Writer's block and school are nasty ailments to fall to. There is less of Mickey's internal snarking at the Doctor in this chapter merely because there is only a small amount of snarking you can do when the TARDIS is around. :P
> 
> also, this chapter is currently unedited because I needed to update. Womp.

Eliza sat down with these strangers, pouring out tea into the white-and-gold teacups and saucers on the small table in front of her. This particular set had been one of Alexander’s favorites, reserved for gatherings with the Washingtons and, for a short time, the Burrs.

 

She took up her teacup and intentionally sipped the too-hot liquid in order to wash away the memory of bile flooding her mouth. She smiled as she set her teacup down, and she looked at the mysterious, tall man.

 

“So Martha tells me that you are a doctor,” Eliza begins. She notices that his eyes go a bit wide, and both of his company smirk. She continues, “Tell me, what specifically do you study?”

 

The man nodded and leaned forward, taking the tea. “Well, I study an assortment of different things. Mostly science, but sometimes history.” He sips, smiling as the tea hits his tongue. Eliza smiled in response.

 

“Ah, so you’re like a professor of sorts?” Eliza gently leans toward him. “Tell me, Doctor…?”

 

“Smith. Dr. John Smith,” the man continues, smiling as he sets his tea down. “Apologies for not introducing myself sooner.”

 

“It’s no matter,” Eliza said, waving her hand nonchalantly. “I would like to know who your other companion is, though,” she said, looking over at the black man sitting on the opposite side of the table from Dr. Smith. He leaned forward, clearing his throat.

 

“Mickey,” he said, a slight Cockney accent pressing on the ‘ey’ part. She smiled.

 

“So Mickey, Martha, and Dr. Smith,” she said, looking at each one as she said their names. They each nodded, although Mickey seemed to narrow his eyes at Dr. Smith when he nodded.

 

“Indeed, Mrs. Hamil-”

 

“Please, call me Eliza,” she interrupted, causing Dr. Smith to look at her, mouth slightly agape. He closed it quickly, and Martha snickered. Mickey continued to look at Dr. Smith with an intense gaze, like he was examining him.

 

“Well then,” Dr. Smith continued, “Eliza, as a professor of science and history, I would like to posit some possibilities to you, if you are interested.”

 

Eliza cocked an eyebrow in his direction. It was rare for any company who visited her to tell her anything. Usually, it was young students of law or finance seeking some sort of direction from the wife of Alexander Hamilton, a legacy that her name would be forever tied to, perhaps only in footnotes. She didn’t mind so much that she would merely be a wife in the eyes of history, an argument that she had engaged in with Angelica multiple times before her death. But she was pleased at the occasions where a stranger desired to explain new information to her. It was very familiar, in a way.

 

“Go on,” she responded, sitting back and taking a sip of her tea.

 

“Well, as you are probably well aware, your late husband Alexander has made quite an impact on American history,” Dr. Smith said, and Eliza nodded.

 

“History will remember him, although possibly not in the way that he should be remembered,” Eliza replied, looking down at the teacup. “He made many enemies, a few of which have more sway over what history will say about him than the bulk of his work and interactions ever will.”

 

“Well, that may be true. But what if I told you that the outlook of your husband’s legacy isn’t nearly as terrible as it seems?” At this, Eliza raised her eyebrow again. She looked curiously at Dr. Smith’s attire, then at Mickey and Martha’s attire, then back to Dr. Smith.

 

“What do you mean,” she lightly asked, trying to hide her sudden confusion and panic. She wasn’t so alarmed as to start shaking, but she certainly wasn’t sure how she felt about this declaration. Dr. Smith seemed to take notice, however, and he leaned forward, resting his own teacup down.

 

“Eliza, I certainly don’t mean to alarm--”

 

“You haven’t alarmed me too terribly,” she replied, straightening her spine as best she could. “I just… I need more context.”

 

“Then I shall provide,” Dr. Smith replied, shifting his weight forward. Eliza suddenly gave him rapt attention. She recognized that shift in weight, she had seen Alexander do it so many times in their time together. And, even if sometimes his thoughts and musings were outlandish, they were nonetheless interesting.

 

“You see, Eliza, the concept of time is much less linear than you might assume. To better explain, imagine a strand of yarn, splayed out randomly on a table or on the floor.” Dr. Smith was gesturing with his hands. Eliza’s heart warmed as happy, good memories of Alexander were brought to the surface.

 

“Alright, I’ll indulge this visualization,” she responded, and Dr. Smith smiled.

 

“Okay, so you see how at some points the yarn collides with other parts of the yarn?” Eliza nodded, grinning. This was almost like the time Alexander was comprehending how the branches of government would work when he took a break from the Constitutional Convention all those years ago.

 

“So, at those points where the yarn intersects, you can move a decent amount of distance from one point on the string to the other, which is best demonstrated when you straighten out the yarn, yes?” Dr. Smith pretended to straighten out a piece of yarn, illustrating the concept, and Eliza nodded.

 

“That makes sense,” she replied. Dr. Smith’s smile increased, tugging the corners of his mouth upwards.

 

“Now imagine that time behaves very similarly,” Dr. Smith said. Eliza blinked.

 

“So, you’re saying that time can be…” Eliza paused. She didn’t know what word would best explain the ‘yarn intersection’ in reference to time.

 

“...hopped?” Eliza looked over to Martha, who had interjected with the comment. Martha was smiling as well. Eliza nodded slowly, then looked back at Dr. Smith.

 

“Yes, that time can be hopped?”

 

“That is what I’m saying, Eliza,” Dr. Smith said, his smile increasing. Eliza looked between Dr. Smith, Martha, and Mickey, opening her mouth multiple times to say something. She was facing a strange new world, with strange new faces in strange new clothes--

 

_ The clothes. _

 

She looked at Martha’s strange pantaloons, patterned in something pink with misshapen circles. It looked like some sort of charicature of a cat with a bow affixed to its ear. Her jacket was made of very shiny leather, much more pristine than most leather that Eliza had seen. Mickey wore strange, black tight clothing with some sort of padding underneath it in the torso region. And Dr. Smith, while perhaps a little closer to Eliza’s conventional view of fashion, wore more colorful clothing than the suits of the older gentlemen she saw around. The trio of them still wore the oddest clothes she had ever seen--even compared to some of the outfits that Alexander described President Jefferson in.

 

She took a deep breath, bracing herself for more oddities to be declared. “If this is true, then what year are you from?”

 

“That’s a bit more complicated,” Martha replied. “Me and Mickey here are from 2009--”

 

“2009,” Eliza gasped. “That’s nearly 150 years into the future!”

 

“A little more than that,” Mickey replied. “We’re right around 167 years in the past, from our perspective.”

 

Eliza turned between the couple and Dr. Smith, mouth gaping open. After a few seconds, she launched into her questions.

 

“Is there a war? Are the Whigs still present? Is the United States split? What does President Tyler do to--”

 

“Eliza, we’re British,” Martha interjects, silencing her questions. “We don’t know as much about American history as you think we do.”

 

“But America still exists,” Eliza commented, smiling slightly and hopefully. Even if the Union didn’t stand, the fact that these foreigners from the future--how that was possible, she was unsure, and she wasn’t sure if she believed them entirely--knew of America was enough.

 

“Yes,” Mickey says, “although it’s a mess.”

 

“It’s always been a mess,” Eliza replies, waving her hand. “But the Union still stands, that’s the important thing.” She remembered how often Alexander talked about the potential for the states, how he spent a sizable portion of his life trying to secure the future of America alongside Washington, Madison, and Jay. At least one thing in his legacy was maintained, even in the growing tension of the current political atmosphere.

 

“Quite,” Dr. Smith interjected, and Eliza returned her focus to him, shaking away thoughts of politics and slavery from her mind as she turned toward him. He looked antsy and anxious, like he wanted to explain more things. Her heart warmed as she remembered how many times she had been in this exact same position with Alexander: him, waiting to extrapolate on his musings; her, pressing forward with questions.

 

And so she continues.

 

“So, how did you get from the future to here,” she asked, staring keenly at Dr. Smith. She recognized the way the anxious lines in his face turned immediately into excitement, the buzzing of his countenance permeating out through his eyes and growing smile.

 

“Let me show you,” he said, standing up and reaching out his hand towards her. She took his hand, letting herself be pulled out of the chair.

 

***

 

Mickey and Martha stood back as the Doctor introduced Eliza to the TARDIS. They suppressed their giggles as her eyes widened and narrowed at the sight of the small blue box in her backyard.

 

“How did this get here,” she asked, lips pursing into a tight line. Mickey raised his eyebrows as the elderly woman tightened her grip on the cane she leaned on. He felt a nudge on his arm from Martha, who was stifling a large grin behind a closed fist.

 

“This,” the Doctor said, motioning towards the TARDIS, “is a device that travels through time. It doesn’t really follow conventional standards of how things move. It just… appears.”

 

Mickey chuckled as Eliza’s mouth seemed to stutter. “And you all fit in there?”

 

“Yep,” The Doctor chipperly replied, pushing the door open. He turned back to Eliza, who was scrutinizing the TARDIS’ size. “Come on, try it out.” He stood back and waved his hands in the door’s direction, in an attempt to usher Eliza in.

 

Mickey watched Eliza slowly approach the box, recognizing the doubt in her posture and walk as she walked inside. And when Eliza stumbled out, leaning on her cane, looking about the outside of the TARDIS, he started laughing.

 

“Not what it seems, right,” he called out to her, and Eliza turned to him.

 

“You’re telling me,” she replied, stepping out and craning her head around the edges of the front of the TARDIS. Mickey strode forward, noting how she was shaking. The Doctor had been particularly gentle with her in explaining how time worked, but he knew there was no way to dampen the effect of the TARDIS. He took her hand, and she eagerly took it, looking up at him. Just then Martha came up next to Mickey, concern creasing her face.

 

“Are you alright, Mrs. Hamilton?”

 

“I think I need a moment,” Eliza replied, smiling at Martha and Mickey. Mickey looked up to see the Doctor leaning against the TARDIS. He raised an eyebrow at Mickey, who nodded once. The Doctor strode over as Eliza turned to meet his gaze.

 

“I have seen many miraculous things, Dr. Smith, and I think that your magic box is close to the top of the list,” Eliza said, and Mickey bit his lip in order to not guffaw at ‘Dr. Smith’.

 

“Wait, so what’s at the top,” Martha asked. Eliza turned and smiled.

 

“It’s a long story, but it involves President Jefferson, my Alexander, and a copious amount of cheese noodles.” Eliza grinned, and looked back at the Doctor, letting her hands slacken in Mickey’s hand. He looked up at the Doctor, who wore a smirk on his face.

 

“Well, that’s not the only miraculous thing I have to show you, Eliza,” the Doctor said. “But first, we must go back into the box.”

  
Eliza turned back to Martha and Mickey, who looked at her, smiling. Mickey stole a glance at the Doctor, who was smiling weakly.  _ Whatever he has planned, I hope he’s slow and careful about it _ , he thought.  _ I didn’t sign up to take care of an elderly wife of a dead American _ .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come find me at @rambleton or @laramidianphantoms on tumblr to beta-read! :D


	4. Hiatus

Howy friends! I am seeing the comments y'all are posting and I want to get back to work on this fic, but I am currently in finals/projects hell and probably won't be out until the second week of May. But rest assured this will be revived soon!

As always, if you want to talk about the fic(s), I am at rambleton and laramidianphantoms on Tumblr. See you all in May!


	5. Inside

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Into the TARDIS we go! Bonding, bitterness, and Chernow (oh, my)!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GUESS WHO'S BACK, BACK AGAIN
> 
> Alright, so after months of hiatus, I finally have churned out another chapter of this sucker. Thank you all for your kind comments, and I really hope that y'all enjoy this installment!
> 
> I do have to warn for brief mentions of inexplicit suicide (the word isn't used, but it's heavily implied). Also, Mickey is Angry.

The Doctor strolled into the entryway of the TARDIS and smiled. The rustic bronze, lit up with the bright blue of the TARDIS’ heart, filled once again with the banter between him and his--

 

“Excuse me,” Eliza said gently behind him, and The Doctor turned around to face her.  _ Right _ , he thought,  _ we have a job to do. _

 

“Oh, my apologies,” he exclaimed, grandly stepping back to let Eliza deeper into the TARDIS. She shuffled along, looking around in awe. He was watching her careful scrutinization of the TARDIS when Mickey cleared his throat. The Doctor whipped his head around and was met with his stern gaze.

 

“Doctor, I think we should procure a chair for Mrs. Hamilton,” he stated, smiling slightly. “If your TARDIS driving is anything like I remember it being, we might also want to wrap her up in bubble wrap.”

 

Martha stifled a snort behind Mickey and the Doctor rolled his eyes.

 

“Alright, I’ll go grab one, I’ll be right back.” He made to stroll off, but a firm hand clapped onto his shoulder.

 

“I’ll come with,” Mickey gruffly said.

 

“But you don’t know the TARDIS as well as--”

 

“I’ve heard enough from Rose and Martha to infer,” Mickey said, smiling slightly. “And besides, I think Martha and Eliza are bonding, and I don’t want to interrupt that.” Mickey looked back at Martha, who was holding Eliza’s hand and talking gently with her. The Doctor looked on the scene and half-smiled.  _ Martha was doing so well as a med student. I wonder how many lives she could have saved without me interfering. _

 

“Ay,” Mickey said, snapping his fingers in front of the Doctor’s face. The Doctor blinked, and looked back at Mickey. “Let’s go get that chair, yeah?”

 

“Right,” the Doctor replied, inhaling deeply. “Allons-y!” He strode off quickly, going up onto the ledge that lined the central chamber’s walls and then down a staircase, feeling Mickey’s tense stare boring into his back.

 

***

 

“It seems impossible, doesn’t it,” Martha gently asked, and Eliza smiled.

 

“I’ve seen many an impossible thing happen in my life, my dear Martha, but I do have to admit this is a bit startling.” Eliza looked up at Martha, smiling.

 

“I can imagine,” Martha mused. She didn’t remember a whole lot from her history courses, and since she had never been to the United States she had very little frame of reference for what Americans were actually like, or their history. She shrugged,  _ it couldn’t hurt to ask a few questions, would it? _

 

“So, tell me more about your husband. He sounds important.”

 

“Oh, my Hamilton,” Eliza began, her eyes casting off into the distance, a small smile creeping upon her face. “I remember the night I met him. It was a lovely winter ball we were at, and I was captivated by his charm, his kindness, his words.” She looked up at Martha. “We married a month later.”

 

“Well, that seems awful quick,” Martha responded, blinking.

 

“Perhaps, but we were so in love,” Eliza replied. “And we certainly… We certainly were quite the couple.” She cast her eyes down. “He was loving and caring to me and our children, don’t get me wrong, but building a nation in a society that refused to listen to him took a toll.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

Eliza waved her hand. “It’s unimportant. What matters is that, in the end, he is remembered. And I’m glad to hear that his legacy lives on in some form.” She smiled faintly, and looked back at Martha. “Now, tell me about your year, the time you are from.”

 

Martha shrugged and smiled. “What do you want to know?”

 

“Well, while slavery is abolished, what are the rights of… people of your...” Eliza glanced about, seeming to be searching for the right word.

 

Martha chuckled. “You mean black people?”

 

Eliza’s jaw dropped. “But… that’s so--”

 

“Trust me, it’s better than most possible words you could have said,” Martha quickly replied. Eliza briefly nodded, then looked at Martha, seeming to expect more talking. Martha thought for a moment.  _ I don’t know how to respond to that question, I’m not an American. _

 

_ Although, Obama  _ did _ just get elected. _

 

“Well, I can’t exactly answer all the possible questions you may have since I’m not an American, but would it comfort you to hear that the current President of the United States is a black man?”

 

Martha didn’t know what she was expecting, but she wasn’t expecting the contemplative face on Eliza’s face that followed that declaration.

 

“So they-- you-- have full rights?” Eliza quietly asked. Martha bit her lip, wondering how to proceed.

 

“Well, in theory,” she finally stated. “I mean, there’s still issues, but things have come a long way.”

 

“I can imagine,” Eliza said. “I have seen so much in my life, and I assumed that at some point there would be something I wouldn’t be able to see. But I see, right before me, the abolition of slavery and increased rights for… black… people.” Eliza gently smiled, and Martha smiled back.

 

“I know ‘black’ seems harsh, but you’ll adjust to it,” Martha replied.

 

“I guess I will have to, since it seems I’m being taken on an unknown journey.” Eliza rested her cane against one of the railings, leaning against it gently, looking back at Martha. “Do you think you could enlighten me as to where exactly where we’re going?”

 

Martha paused for a moment, then shook her head. “I sadly don’t know much more outside of what you possibly know. Although supposedly we’re going to go see a show?”

 

“Oh, what kind of show?”

 

Martha scrunched up her face. She had no idea, the Doctor hadn’t talked to them too much about what exactly the plan was. All she knew was that there was a show, and that it involved this old woman from the past, and American history. She had no idea if there were aliens, or government agencies, or the other mischief the Doctor happens upon. And while she had tucked the Doctor’s mentions of ‘Moffat’ and ‘Davies’ aside, she was itching to know what those names meant.

 

“I’m not entirely sure, to be honest,” Martha replied, shrugging, hiding the trepidation she began to feel. “But knowing the Doctor, it will probably be good.”

 

“Well, this should be enjoyable, then,” Eliza said chipperly, sitting down on the ledge below the railing. Martha watched her look around the TARDIS with wonder and awe.

 

_ I certainly hope the Doctor knows what’s going on, because I don’t think this woman would survive any of the ‘adventures’ that we could go on. _

 

***

 

“What do you  _ mean _ we are merely characters in some writer’s mind,” Mickey exclaimed, nearly dropping the end of the lounge chair he was helping the Doctor carry up the stairs. It was a surprisingly long staircase that wound down a cylindrical shaft, with shelves of miscellany lining the walls. Mickey refused to look down at the seemingly endless shaft.  _ For all I know, I could fall in and keep falling forever. It wouldn’t be the weirdest thing that’s happened to me _ .

 

“I mean, we are merely characters in some writer’s mind, what is unclear about that statement?” The Doctor’s eyebrows furrowed. “And don’t drop this chair! It’s a gift from the Face of Boe.”

 

“Oh, another grand alien that you probably helped,” muttered Mickey, hefting his end of the chair higher. His irritation with the Doctor was starting to reach a peak, and he felt the familiar bubblings of frustration at everything that the Doctor brought into his life and took away from him. He had lost an amazing relationship with Rose because of the Doctor, he had lost his grandmother not once, but twice. He had lost any potential of a normal life. And now here the Doctor was, claiming that he had little control over it.

 

“Well, you could say that,” the Doctor replied. “Martha can fill in the details later. Honestly, I’m surprised that she hasn’t mentioned him at all to you. How could she have not brought up that the Face of Boe is actually--”

 

“Okay, I get it,” Mickey interrupted, rolling his eyes. “But can we get back to the part where Davies is essentially a tinkering god in our lives?”

 

“I mean, I guess--”

 

“And why  _ us _ specifically? Why would this Davies figure choose me and Rose, who were just fine before we met you, thank you very much? Why would this Davies figure intentionally write up Daleks and Cybermen and heartbreak?” Mickey’s voice rose in volume, the bubbling coming to a boil.

 

“It’s a form of entertainment for Davies--”

 

“Enter _ tain _ ment?!” Mickey set his end of the chair down and looked up at the Doctor. “You’re saying that this Davies person sees making pain and suffering as entertainment?!”

 

The Doctor, exasperatedly, set his end down as well and started running his hands over his hair.

 

“Mickey, it’s not like that, it’s--”

 

“What is it, Doctor? What, exactly, is it then?” Mickey felt the boiling spreading, engulfing his mind. “What, exactly, is someone intentionally writing up a story and making us suffer? What, exactly, is playing a hyper-controlling god that has essentially taken away the personhood of you, me, Martha, Rose, and everyone else that has probably walked into this damn ship?”

 

“Mickey--”

 

“NO, YOU’RE GOING TO LISTEN TO ME, FOR ONCE IN YOUR LIFE YOU’RE GOING TO LISTEN TO ME. IF THIS IS HOW YOU’RE EXCUSING TAKING RANDOM PEOPLE AWAY FROM THEIR NORMAL LIVES IN ORDER TO GIVE YOU PEACE OF MIND, KNOW THAT IT’S NOT GOING TO WORK WITH ME.” Mickey was panting, and he felt the drops of sweat drip down the side of his face. He watched the Doctor’s face, which was just staring back at him. Mickey swallowed.  _ Might as well continue now that I’ve started _ .

 

“Rose and I, we were good. We were fine, before you came along, swept her away, and left me in the dust. I had no idea what was going on. There were months with no contact, there were things that Rose couldn’t talk to me about because I ‘wouldn’t understand’. She fell in love with you, you bastard. You took the love of my life right out of my hands, with no explanation.”

 

“Mickey, I…” the Doctor began, but Mickey huffed.

 

“I wasn’t done yet,” Mickey stabbed into the conversation, venom permeating each syllable. The Doctor closed his mouth, and Mickey took a breath.

 

“And then, you regenerated, and Jackie and I were powerless. You swept Rose away from us in your new body, again and again and again, and we were losing her. You had no clue at all, whatsoever, what you were doing to us. How could we cope with this person, who was no longer tangible to us, coming in and out of our lives? How could we cope with the idea that, one day, Rose might not come back?

 

“And this is without even bringing up the parallel universe, my God. I chose to go over, because there was no way in hell that I was going to get anything done in my worthless life in my original universe when my only motivation for living wasn’t even there. I lived Rickey’s life, his stressful, conspiratorial, paranoid life, because there was nothing left. And that just led me back into the world I tried so hard to escape and fight against. I fell back into you and Rose’s life. And maybe I saved your asses a few times, but I sure as hell thought about leaving you two to die while we figured out another way to patch the universe up.

 

“And when Rose was locked out from seeing you, she tore the universe apart again to find you. Hell, she probably made it  _ easier _ for the Daleks to come back. And I followed, because we were coworkers. And I couldn’t stand seeing her holding not-you close to her. I couldn’t do that. I couldn’t put my heart through another wringer like that.

 

“Martha helped a lot. I mean, I’m sure that I could yell for her, but I’ll leave her anger at you for her to dump on you, if she does.” Mickey took a breath and chuckled. “That’s the thing about Martha, she’s much kinder than me.” He shook his head, then looked back at the Doctor, who was still staring at him. And, to Mickey’s surprise, the Doctor actually seemed to look guilty, like Mickey was actually getting through to him.

 

“But you ruined my life,” Mickey continued. “And you’re not going to escape that by placing your actions on some mystical writer in the sky that somehow has enough care to make sure you and your female companions are built enough to feel joy amongst the suffering but not enough to prevent living hells for the rest of us.”

 

Mickey huffed, and stared back at the Doctor. The silence was deafening, and Mickey wanted to break it. But he had nothing left to say to the Doctor, and he knew that there was nothing that the Doctor could say that would fix any of what had happened in the past four years. He looked down the chasm, seeing the bronze spiral reach down into the darkness of infinity. And, just as quickly as the thought of falling in entered his mind, he pushed it away and moved to pick up the chair.

 

“Come on, let’s get this chair for Eliza,” Mickey muttered. “How many more rotations do we have?”

 

“Five,” the Doctor faintly replied, picking up his end. His voice seemed to falter on the ‘v’, and Mickey blinked slowly. The boiling was back in his chest, and he felt like he could lift the chair again.

 

“Well, let’s get going, then.” Mickey succeeded in lifting his end without faltering, without tossing himself over the railing.

 

***

 

It was a calm afternoon in Ron’s office, and he smiled as the #Ham4Ham show closed. It was remarkable seeing how the female cast took on the roles in My Shot so easily, and he found that Lin’s lyrics bounced about in his head more and more as the show continued to grow.

 

The hip-hop was interrupted by an unmistakable  _ whoosh, whoosh _ sound, and Ron clenched a fist.

 

_ He better not be trying to bring me back to the Revolutionary War _ .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, I'm really mad that Mickey doesn't have more character development, and that we don't really see him much. Then again, I think it's probably good, because it makes it easier to canonically point out the things the Doctor has done that makes him a Very Flawed Character. And, honestly, no wonder the Doctor kept refusing to drop in with the Ood between Waters of Mars and End of Time Pt. I. I'm sure that the Doctor had a lot of growing up and harsh realities he faced during that time.
> 
> Hit me up on tumblr at @rambleton or @laramidianphantoms!

**Author's Note:**

> I'm @laramidianphantoms (writing) and @rambleton (Hamiltrash) on Tumblr!
> 
> If you want to beta-read, shoot me a message!


End file.
